#325#
Just look--the lanterns have begun to glow. Get up--get up--go out
and meet them and bring them in. Such venerable elders come to the
mushairah that the sight of them is collyrium to our eyes. Among them
we can see two types of accomplished poets. One who considered it
their law and their faith to follow their elders, and who will stroll
in those elders' gardens. They'll prune away old branches and yellow
leaves and trim them, and make bouquets of new colors and new styles
to adorn the vases in the wall niches. The second type is that group
of lofty-minded poets who will use the steam of thought to send up
the breezes of invention--and will employ them, like
fireworks-balloons, to attain a lofty height. They have done great
works with this breeze.

But alas, they've
done something most unfortunate: they never went in any direction in
the limitless expanse that lay all around them. From the rooftops,
they flew up higher and higher. Thus you'll see that a number of
these high flyers will reach such an elevation that the sun will look
the size of a star. And some will fly so as to fly away entirely.
They call their method *imaginativeness and 'delicate thought'. But
the truth is that poetry is their magicianship, and they are the
[magically skilled] Sāmirīs of their time. In addition to
this, their ascendant fortune will be such that they'll find people
of their own type who will worship them. There's no doubt about the
'delicate thought' of these elders, but it is only of this order: up
till now the flower of a theme swayed in the Garden of Eloquence in
the youthful glory of its inborn beauty. These poets will pull off
its petals and draw such designs on them with a fine brush that they
won't be visible without glasses. In this imaginativeness these
gentlemen of accomplishment will have no care even for that natural
delicacy that you'd regard as inborn beauty. Because their verbal
device can't show #326# its full style without
this.

The earlier elders
had already made use of every single leaf in the gardens around them.
Now, where could they have gotten new flowers? There was no road for
going forward, and no equipment for making a road. Having no choice,
they beat the drum of ustad-ship in this way, and received the crown
of honor from their contemporaries. This difficulty of the final era
did not fall on our language alone. In Persian, compare the ancients
with the later poets. Or compare the pre-Islamic poets with the later
Arabic ones. Although I don't know English, I know this much: that
its later poets too lament over this pain. Thus it can be seen that
as long as a language remains in the condition of childhood, for just
that long it keeps pouring out cups of milk and sherbet. When it
attains mature years, then it mingles perfume and essences with them.
It seeks out and procures the attar of elaboration. Then simplicity
and sweet airs go down into the dust. Of course, the results are cups
of medicines that anyone who wants to can drink.

At this point it is
necessary to say that before this time, those gentlemen who were in
Lucknow were ruined refugees from Delhi. Up to this time they or
their children considered Delhi their native place, and the people of
Lucknow thought it a source of pride, not a defect, to imitate them.
Because up to this time no person of the highest level of
accomplishment had been born there. Now the time comes when they
themselves will claim to be possessors of the language, and the claim
will become them. And when their idiom differs from that of Delhi,
they'll advance proofs for the eloquence of their own idiom and the
lack of eloquence of Delhi's idiom. And fair-minded people of Delhi
will even accept certain of their points. Those elders had abandoned
many archaic words, some details about which have been written in the
introduction to the fourth era. And now the language that's spoken in
Delhi and Lucknow is as if it's their own language. Of course,
in Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh's volume, in one place the word zor
is used with the meaning of 'much'. Perhaps this might be a poem from
his earliest period: [one illustrative verse]. #327#
In the poetry of the elders of Delhi, [forms like] āʾe
hai [=comes] and jāʾe hai [=goes] are common.
But in the ghazals of the latest period, they too have avoided them.

The late Shāh
Naṣīr was a person of advanced years; he began to write
poetry in a time that goes almost back to Jurʾat and Sayyid
Inshā, and the end of his time borders on that of Nāsiḳh,
Ātish, and Żauq. For this reason, in his earliest ghazals
here and there he says ṭuk [=a little bit, just]. And
the way in the fourth period they casually formed feminine plural
verbs with the ending āñ--that too appears here
and there in his earliest ghazals. Thus one of Mīr's opening
verses is: [one illustrative verse by Mīr, one by Shāh
Naṣīr]. In this way where an adjective is to modify an
Indic plural noun, pluralizing it is now considered contrary to
eloquence. But the Ḳhvājah Sahib [Ātash] says, [one
illustrative verse].

INTRODUCTION
ABOUT THE PARTICULARS OF

SHAIḲH
IMĀM BAḲHSH NĀSIḲH

An excellent
memorial left by the ancient elders is Maulvī Muḥammad
ʿAz̤īmullāh Sahib, a gentlemen of learning and
lover of accomplishment who is the landlord of Zamania in Ghazipur
district. Although I do not know about his forebears in detail, I
know this much: that he was married to the maternal granddaughter of
Shāh Ajmal Sahib, the sister of the Qaẓī of Qāẓīs
Muftī Asadullāh Sahib. The Maulvī Sahib's father was
an extremely close friend of Shaiḳh Imām Baḳh
Nāsiḳh. My friends! The friendships of former times were
very different friendships. Today, in your enlightened age, I don't
find the words to describe them, the words that would create images
of their ideas in your hearts. Alas, alas! Ustad Żauq:

In short, personal feelings and
harmony of temperament used often to draw the Maulvī Sahib's
father from Ghazipur to Lucknow. He used to stay there for months
together. The Maulvī Sahib was five years old. He too used to be
with his father. From that time he remained in the service of Shaiḳh
Nāsiḳh, and for years together he profited from the grace
of his presence. The Shaiḳh kindly bestowed on him the pen-name
of Raġhmī, from which [as a chronogram] A.H. 1250 [1834-35]
works out to be the year of his pupilship. He did his prescribed
Arabic and Persian study in Allahabad and Lucknow. In the field of
Urdu and Persian literature he has composed a number of works. He
knows that their season is now entirely over; the wind is against
them. Thus neither does he himself emerge from his quiet corner, nor
does he bring out his books. In his youth, he received honored and
esteemed posts even from the [English] government. Now old age has
caused him to live on a pension and keep to his home. The slave Āzād
has, thanks to this very Āb-e ḥayāt, obtained
the gift of serving him. And he has written down a number of
particulars about the Shaiḳh, which are recorded now in the
second edition, and has thus incurred a heavy debt of gratitude. Āzād
is wholeheartedly indebted to him; he always obliges me with his kind
letters, from every word of which there drips the 'Water of Life' of
love. The thing is that people like us are absolutely strange to this
age. The 'new light' people say that there's no light, there's no
light. If you look through the eyes of Janāb Raġhmī or
the slave Āzād, the world is a darkness indeed.

I have not yet had the honor of
meeting him, but I know that like a stranger dropped into a new
land--a land where no one understands his language, and he doesn't
understand anyone else's, and he stares at everyone's faces in
bewilderment--in just this way he too is staring at the faces of
people today. What were the mushairahs of Nāsiḳh and
Ātish--and what are the gatherings of 'committees' [kamīṭī]!
The information about the Shaiḳh Sahib and the Ḳhvājah
[Ātash] Sahib that he wrote down and sent me--it seems that
tears were in his eyes and flowed down in the form of letters [on the
page]. Someone #329# should ask Āzād's
heart about this pain! For when the name of Shaiḳh Ibrāhīm Żauq comes up, a shock of sorrow constricts my heart.

/Oh nightingale, lament, if you claim to be friends with me

For we are two sad lovers, and our desire is to weep/.

While writing about Shaiḳh
Nāsiḳh, Raġhmī says, 'How can I tell you how
kind he was to me! He himself copied out two volumes [of his poetry]
and gave them to me. He had a seal carved from agate, and gave it to
me; I still have it.' Raġhmī, may God preserve him, sent me
information about Jaunpur and Ghazipur, and so on, for which the
Darbār-e akbarī will always remain grateful. God
grant that that book may quickly be prepared, and may make its
appearance before people of discernment.

THE
PARTICULARS OF

SHAIḲH
IMĀM BAḲHSH NĀSIḲH

The native place
of the Shaiḳh Sahib's poetry is Lucknow, but from the point of
view of accomplishment the honor ought to go to Lahore, which was his
father's native place. About his family we can say only this much:
that he was the sona
of Ḳhudā Baḳhsh the Tentmaker. And some people say
that this wealthy childless man had adopted him, and that his true
father had, because of poverty, traveled from west to east. In
Faizabad, thanks to his fortune, this star began to shine, and shone
so as to become the sun of the sky of poetry. [Żauq:]

/Ask Moses about God's bounty--

For he went to get fire, and prophethood was the result/.

Besides the birth of a fortunate son to
a poor father, fortune did not befriend him there either. But this
wealthy merchant, who was childless, took the boy of lofty destiny
into sonship and gave him such an education and training that when he
grew up he became Shaiḳh Imām Baḳhsh Nāsiḳh.
And thanks to this adoptive father, he did not feel the pinch of
worldly needs. When the merchant died, the merchant's brothers laid a
claim. He said, 'I have no desire for wealth or property. As I
considered him my father, so I consider you as well. Let there be
only this: in the way that he used to fulfill my needs, in the same
way you please do so.' They agreed.

His uncle gave him poison:#330# Because of a skin condition, at a certain
period Nāsiḳh ate nothing but bread made of gram that he
crumbled into a bowl of clarified butter. His evil uncle put poison
in this dish. People gossipped about it: that a Jinn who was his
friend alerted him. (Another tale about him will be told later.) In
any case, he learned about it somehow or other. At once he called
some friends together, and in their presence gave a morsel to a dog.
Finally it was proved that there truly was poison in it. After some
days, the quarrel over the inheritance reached the court of law, the
decision of which was in favor of the Shaiḳh Sahib. At that
time he composed some quatrains, to unburden his heart. Here are two
among them:

/Although the false accusation of my uncles has become famous

Neither elite nor common people give thought to the matter

To inherit proves that one is an offspring

No slave was ever able to obtain the inheritance/

/The malicious uncles kept describing me to the court as a slave

But I received the whole paternal inheritance

Through this false claim the oppressors got nothing

They ended only by lowering my prestige/.

If you think carefully, it's no fault
to be an adopted son; the world's poverty and wealth keep changing
like winter and summer. Look at one of the richest of the rich:
within merely a few generations, it's impossible that poverty would
not have passed through his house at least once. That irresolute
person is indeed worthy of blame who is not able to wait in this
condition for the mercy of God, but does such deeds that he leaves
his name sullied. In short, the Shaiḳh Sahib's rivals have
clothed this matter in a bad color, as will soon be described. He was
in Faizabad. When Lucknow became the capital city, he came there, and
passed the rest of his life there. A neighborhood there called 'The
Mint' is famous. He settled down there, and struck his mark on the
silver and gold of poetry, and assayed counterfeit and pure themes.

His educational attainments:
He studied the Persian books with Ḥāfiz̤ Vāriṡ
ʿAlī Lakhnavī, and he studied the prescribed texts
with the religious scholars of Farangi Mahal as well. Although his
Arabic was not of a scholarly level, through the widespread
cultivation of learning and the good company he kept, he was entirely
acquainted with the necessities of the art of poetry. And in the
organization [naz̤m] of his poetry #331#
he followed the principles most carefully.

Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh's
own account of his pupilship: In poetry he was no one's
pupil, but from the beginning he loved poetry. Maulānā
Raġhmī says, 'Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh himself
reported to me the particulars of the beginning of his poetry: "The
late Mīr Taqī was still alive, and my passion for poetry
had made me venture to approach him. One day, avoiding the
observation of others, I presented a number of ghazals in his
service. He did not give me correction.b
Discouraged at heart, I came back, and said to myself, Even Mīr
Sahib after all is just a man, not an angel! I myself will give
correction to my own work. In short, I used to compose something, and
put it aside. After some days I looked at it again. In whatever ways
I could think of, I gave it correction--and put it aside. After
another interval, I again, when I had the leisure, looked it over
once more and worked on it. In short, I kept up my practice. But I
never recited anything to anyone. Until I was thoroughly confident, I
didn't recite a ghazal in a mushairah, or before anyone else. There
used to be a mushairah at Mirzā Ḥājīc
Sahib's house. Sayyid Inshā, Mirzā Qatīl, Jurʾat,
Muṣḥafī, and so on--all the poets--used to gather
there. I used to go and listen to everyone. But I never recited
anything there. Among them all, the salt and spices in the poetry of
Sayyid Inshā and Jurʾat were not in anyone else's language.
In short, Sayyid Inshā and Muṣḥafī's encounters
too came to an end. Jurʾat and Z̤ahūrullāh Ḳhān
Navā's conflicts too had been resolved.

'"When time
had turned all these pages and the field was clear, I began to recite
#332# my ghazals. On that occasion Mirzā
Ḥājī Sahib, Mirzā Qatīl, and Ḥājī
Muḥammad Ṣādiq Ḳhān 'Aḳhtar'd
showed great appreciation, and through their encouragement my poetry
began to go from strength to strength every day. And enthusiasm was
born in people's hearts, so that even if I composed and recited a
*four-fold ghazal, they kept wanting more. Muntaz̤ire
and Garm [=Warm] had been cooled down by death. The chief pupil of
Ḳhvājah Ḥaidar ʿAlī Ātash, Shaiḳh
Muṣḥafī, had made a name for himself in the use of
idiomatic language. One time, when he came to Lucknow from Faizabad
after a gap of many months and heard my ghazals in the mushairah, he
was consumed by jealousy. And from that day the alienation began. In
the fire of jealousy, he composed ghazals with such mortal effort and
desperate struggle that blood began to drip from his chest."'

In short, Shaiḳh
Nāsiḳh's keenness always took him to mushairahs--which
increased the ambition in his heart and the zeal in his temperament.
And his affluence drew to his house a number of learned and
accomplished people. In their company, his temperament spontaneously
received correction. Gradually, he himself began to give correction.
Some elderly people are reported to have said that in the beginning
he used to obtain correction from Shaiḳh Muṣḥafī,
but that they fell out over some verse so badly that Shaiḳh
Muṣḥafī forbade him to come any more. He kept
composing ghazals on his own. And there was a person with the
pen-name of Tanhā [=Alone]; he used to get advice from this man
in private [tanhāʾī]. When he felt confident,
he began to recite ghazals in mushairahs. But the [above] report
about Muṣḥafī is not trustworthy, because Muṣḥafī
in his anthology recorded the names of all his pupils, and Nāsiḳh's
name is not there; Maulānā Raġhmī says so.

He had a great passion for
exercise and training: The 'champion of poetry' had from
his earliest days a passion for exercise. He himself used to
exercise. In fact even when the young sons of his friends came to
attend upon him, and he saw some promising one among them interested
in exercise, #333# he was happy and encouraged
him. His normal quota was 1297 pushups, because this is the numerical
value of 'Yā Ġhafūr' [Oh Forgiving One]. This routine
was never omitted. Indeed, with the occasion and the season it became
greater. And in proportion to his passion for exercise, so also was
the body he had been given. He was tall and straight, with a broad
chest, and with his head shaven. He normally wore a sarong of coarse
red cotton cloth--and looked like a tiger. In the winter, he wore a
light cloth kurta. It was exceptional for him to wear even a
double-thick kurta of Lucknow chintz.

He was a good eater: In
the whole period of a day and night, he used to eat only once. At
midday he used to seat himself at the dining-cloth, and make up for
the several meals he had missed. He ate fully five Shāhjahānī
sers [=nine pounds] of food. When his favorite fruits were
ripe, then on the day that he wanted a given fruit, his other food
was suspended. For example, if he wanted to eat jāmuns,
then he would sit down with troughs and trays of them. He would eat
four or five sers all by himself. When it was the season for
mangoes, then one day he would send for a number of baskets and place
them before him. He would have water brought in earthenware troughs.
He put the mangoes into the troughs, cooled them, and didn't get up
until he had finished them all off. If he sat down to eat roasted
corn, then he placed the corn in huge heaps. And he often ate like
this: he chose juicy ears of corn, scored them with a knife, and put
salt and pepper on them. He roasted them in his own presence,
squeezed lemon juice over them, and kept on eating and eating them.
In every season he would eat fruit this way two or three times--and
that was all. And three or four friends used to join him in this.

He often used to
eat in private. Everyone knew his schedule. So when midday was near,
they would take their leave. Raġhmī, may God preserve him,
says, 'On some occasions it happened that I ate with him. On that day
he also sent to the bazaar for bone-marrow soup and bread made with
milk, eggs, and clarified butter. In four or five plates there were
rich curry, kabobs, in one of them curried fowl; there were turnips;
there were beets; there was dal made of arhar; there was dal made of
husked lentils; and that tiger of the dining-cloth was alone, but he
finished everything off. It was also his rule to eat his fill of
whatever was in a dish, and then have the servant take it away and
place another before him. It was not possible for him to dip a morsel
of bread into two curries and eat it. He always used to say that if
you eat things all mixed together, then the pleasure of eating
disappears. Last of all he ate pulao, chulao, or plain rice. Then
dal, and after five or six bites, a bite of chutney or pickle or
preserves. He always used to say, "Compared to you young people,
#334# I, an old man, eat better". When the
dining-cloth was removed, then two trays filled only with empty
plates were removed. He was a strong-bodied man, with a powerful
physique. When you saw his face you realized that four or five sers
of food placed before him was nothing.'

An anecdote: Who can
stop people's tongues from wagging? Disrespectful, impertinent people
used to call him a 'tail-docked buffalo'. With regard to the same
color and complexion, Ḳhvājah [Ātash] Sahib composed
this barb:

/Batter the black face of the enemy with shoes

As if there are sword-blows on a [rhinoceros-hide] shield from
Sylhet/.

Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh
himself apologized for this [dark complexion of his]. And Ātash's
pupils too, buttering up their ustad, helped enhance his reputation
and lower that of Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh. Faqīr
Muḥammad Ḳhān 'Goyā' said,

/Certainly it should be extinguished when it sees the beloved's
tresses--

The 'champion of poetry' was very
pleased with talk of the physical arts and discussion of exercise.
Raġhmī's father too was a hero in this battlefield.
Identity of tastes always produces harmony in relationships; thus
their loving relationship always endured.

An anecdote: The late
Āġhā Kalb-e Ḥusain Ḳhān used often to
invite him to his place and keep him as his guest for months. With
him also, the relationship was not based only on a love for poetry.
The Āġhā Sahib too was a master horseman of powerful
physique, much given to exercise. He had an aristocratic life-style
and an affectionate temperament. Thus on one occasion the Āġhā
Sahib was posted [by the Navab of Avadh] as tahsildar, on the border
of the Navab's dominions. He invited the Shaiḳh Sahib, and
urged him to refresh his spirit for some days with an excursion
amidst greenery and open country. One day various kinds of food were
cooked especially for the delectation of the Shaiḳh Sahib; for
this reason some delay beyond the usual time occurred. The Shaiḳh
Sahib saw that at the door of the women's apartments the servants
were receiving their own dinner and carrying it away. He called them
and asked, 'For whom is this?' They petitioned, 'It's our food'. He
commanded, 'Bring it here'. He had the food of four or five men
placed before him. He polished #335# it off, and
gave them back the empty plates, and said, 'When my food comes, you
eat it'. Word reached the Āġhā Sahib--and in the time
it took him to arrive there, the whole thing was over.

The honored and
revered Āġhā Kalb-e ʿĀbid Ḳhānf
Sahib also vouched for the truth of this tale, and said, 'There was
certainly an impatience in his temperament. In those days I was a
child, but his often coming to stay, and the poetry recited in those
gatherings, and especially the way things were in Soram--all is
exactly as if before my eyes. He used to have his room on the upper
floor. A number of times it happened that as he sat and ate, while
eating he picked up the curry dish and threw it out the window,
saying, "There it is!" We sought the reason, but could
discover none.'

His daily routine:#336# It was also his custom that when one watch of
the night still remained, he would begin his exercises. He would
finish them by morning. The house was a men's quarters; he had not
enmeshed himself in marriage and a family. First he bathed, then in
the courtyard, which was as clean as a mirror, low stools were
placed. If he was inside, then the room was adorned with rugs and
decorations. From the morning, his companions and pupils began to
come. In the afternoon, they all took their leave, and the door was
shut. His Honor was seated at the dining-cloth. This was a major
activity. Thus, having lifted this heavy burden, he took a rest. From
the time of the afternoon prayer, people again began to come. At the
time of the evening prayer, they all took their leave. The door was
closed against everyone, even the regular servants. And he put on the
lock from inside. In his house was one room set aside for solitude.
He went there, and slept for some time, then after a little while he
rose and occupied himself with composing poetry. The world was sunk
in the sleep of ignorance; there was an utter silence. And he,
instead of enjoying a restful sleep, kept spilling out his heart's
blood on paper. (I recall an opening verse by my late Ustad, the
second line of which has become a jewel in this ring:

/My tears make your face glow brightly--

On this fire the sesame seed of the eye drips oil, drop by drop/.)

When his pupils brought him ghazals for
correction, the servants collected them all into a coarse red cotton
bag and placed them by his side. He worked on them too. When the last
watch of the night came, the papers were folded away--and again the
same exercises.

He had a great love for the
huqqah: He had a great love for the huqqah. He sent for the
finest huqqahs; they also came to him as gifts. He fitted them with
suitable huqqah-tubes. [Various types of huqqahs] filled up a whole
room. It was not as though in a gathering two huqqahs would make the
rounds. A huqqah suitable for each person was set before that person.
In these gatherings too, there were corrections and benefits for his
pupils.

He was a stickler
about the proper conduct of his sessions. He used to recline against
a bolster. His pupils (many of whom were from rich and noble
families) sat respectfully around the edges of the floor-covering.
They didn't even dare to breathe. Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh
would think for a while, then write something down. When he put down
a paper he would say 'Yesss!' #337# Someone would
begin to recite a ghazal. When a word in a verse needed to be
changed, or if it was possible to improve it by changing the order of
the words, he would correct it. If not, he commanded, 'This is
worthless, strike it out', or 'Its first (or second) line is not
good; change it', or 'This rhyme is good but you haven't developed
its full potential; cudgel your brain a bit more over the verse'.
When that person was through reciting, another would recite. No one
else was allowed to speak.

An extraordinary delusion:
The young aristocrats of Lucknow found it the most difficult task
in the world to digest their food. In order to help them get through
these times, their companions prepared for them a strange digestive
powder [of stories like this one]. One companion has reported that a
Jinn loved the Shaiḳh Sahib. The Shaiḳh Sahib's custom
was that in the morning, after his exercise, he always ate a paratha
made of gram-flour, enriched with a great quantity of clarified
butter. At first it happened that when he sat down to eat, the
paratha kept suddenly vanishing. He wondered about this, but he could
not at all understand it. He always exercised alone in the upper
room, with the door closed. One day he was swinging the dumbbell.
Suddenly he saw another person standing before him, swinging the
dumbbell! He was astonished. In his body was the youthful prowess of
a wrestler. He seized him. Both of them tried their strength on each
other for some time; as they did so he asked, 'Who are you?' That one
said, 'The style of your exercise has pleased me; therefore I
sometimes come by this way. I often share your food with you. But
without expression, there's no pleasure in love. Today I have made my
love manifest.' From that day on, they became friends. Some people
say that the Jinn made him aware of the secret of the poison, too.
But because of his appetite, people said that there was a Jinn in his
stomach.

He never took service with
anyone: He never took service with anyone. Thanks to his
familial wealth, and the appreciation of the knowledgeable, he passed
his life in great affluence. When he first came to Allahabad, Raja
Chandū Lāl [the Nizam's chief minister] sent him twelve
thousand rupees, and invited him [to Hyderabad]. He wrote back, 'Now
I have seized the skirts of a Sayyid [Shāh Ġhulām
Aʿz̤am Afẓal]; I cannot leave him. If I go anywhere
from here, I'll go to Lucknow.' The Raja wrote again--in fact he even
sent fifteen thousand rupees, and invited him with great insistence
to go there, promising that he would be awarded the title of 'Chief
of Poets', and that he need not #338# attend at
court, but could meet with the him only when it pleased him. He did
not agree, and gave the money into the keeping of Āġhā
Kalb-e Ḥusain Ḳhān Sahib. As need occurred, he got
the money back. And not just Kalb-e ʿAlī Ḳhān--Navāb
Muʿtimad ud-Daulah and his sons were always at his service to
help him. Gifts and offerings kept coming from here and there. He
used to spend freely on himself, and on others. He gave to Sayyids,
people doing the Ḥaj, and pilgrims. And since he was free of
entanglements, he went and stayed wherever he wished, and whomever he
went to stay with considered it an honor.

His travels took
him from Faizabad to Lucknow, and from there to Allahabad, Banaras,
and as far as Patna. He wanted to settle down in Banaras, as Shaiḳh
ʿAlī Ḥazīn had done, so from Allahabad he went
there. But he did not find people of his type, so he grew alienated
and went to Patna. The people there treated him with the greatest
kindness and respect, but he just didn't feel at home there. He grew
upset and ran off on short notice, saying, 'My language will be
ruined here'. He came to Allahabad, and again made his headquarters
where Shāh Ajmal had his circle [of Sufi devotees], and said,

/Wherever I wander, my steps take me back into the circle

How has this [compass-like] circular movement come to my feet?/

Why he left Lucknow:
The reason he left Lucknow was that during the reign of Ġhāẓī
ud-Dīn Ḥaidar, when Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh had
begun to be praised loud and long, then the he suggested to his vazir
Navab Muʿtamid ud-Daulah Āġhā Mīr, 'If
Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh will come to my court and present an
ode, then I will give him the title of "Chief of Poets"'.
Muʿtamid ud-Daulah was his devoted pupil. When the Navab
conveyed this message to him, Shaiḳh Nāsiḳh was
offended and replied, 'If Mirzā Sulaimān Shikohg
should become king, he can give titles. Or the English government can
give titles. What would I want with a title from him?' The Navab too
had some irascibility in his temper. At his order, the Shaiḳh
Sahib had to leave, and he went and spent some days in Allahabad.
When the Navab died, he again returned to Lucknow. [A brief account
#339# of further court intrigues, including one
verse.] This time when he came [back to Lucknow], he settled himself
down in his house in such a way that he didn't leave it even when he
died: he was buried in the house itself. Mīr ʿAlī
Ausat̤ 'Rashk', one of his best pupils, composed a chronogram:
[chronogram for A.H. 1254 [1838-39]].

People say that he
was sixty-four or sixty-five years old. But Raġhmī, may God
preserve him, writes that he must have been almost a hundred years
old. He often used to narrate encounters of former times and events
involving Navāb Shujāʿ ud-Daulah that he had seen with
his own eyes.

1Because
of its markings, the narcissus is considered to have a 'blind' eye.

aRaġhmī,
may God preserve him, says, 'His father had gone there from Lahore.
He used to trade in violet and saffron and other valuable things
from Kabul and Kashmir. The late Shaiḳh, who was a child at
that time, came with him.' He does not mention his real father or
Ḳhudā Baḳhsh at all.

bMīr's
temperament and language both were quite like Nāsiḳh's.
And irascibility was the crowning touch. What a pity--the words that
Mīr Sahib would have said, would have been worth our hearing.
But the Shaiḳh Sahib would hardly have told them to anybody.

cHe
is often mentioned in the letters of Mirzā Qatīl. He was
an extremely capable and wise and resourceful person. As the
informal liaison between Navab Saʿādat ʿAlī
Ḳhān and the Resident Sahib, he often straightened out
affairs of state. He had acquired in due course a property of
hundreds of thousands of rupees. Without going out much, he showed
the world what aristocratic splendor could be. He was greatly
interested in sciences, and arts, and poetry. Thus people of
accomplishment often gathered at his house.

dAḳhtar
was the epitome of learning of his time, and poetic and scholarly
arguments were often brought to him for judgment.

2According
to legend, when a black snake confronts a lamp, the lamp goes out.

fMirzā
Muḥammad Taqī Ḳhān and Muḥammad Shafīḥ
Ḳhān, two brothers, were courtiers of Nādir Shāh.
Of them, Muḥammad Taqī Ḳhān was his paternal
grandfather. All the world knows the wrath and cruelty of Nādir
Shāh; he had Muḥammad Shafīḥ Ḳhān
burned alive in a blazing fire. Muḥammad Taqī Ḳhān,
feeling alienated, came to India. His ancestors and the ancestors of
Navab Manṣūr ʿAlī Ḳhān Ṣafdar
Jang had been closely connected in Iran. Thus, for this reason, they
met here. The Navab Sahib treated him with the greatest affection,
and wanted to enroll him in service at the court of the King of
Delhi. When he didn't accept it, then the Navab gave him an estate
in the Avadh region worth ten thousand rupees. Shaiḳh ʿAlī
Ḥazīn was in Banaras. The two had been great friends in
their homeland [of Iran]. Thus he went to Banaras and stayed there.
The late Shaiḳh [Muḥammad Taqī Ḳhān] was
still alive when he died. The Shaiḳh buried him next to the
grave he had prepared for himself. And he had many of his own verses
inscribed on the tomb, which are still there. His son, the late
Kalb-e ʿAlī Ḳhān, illumined the honor of his
elders through his service of the English Government. The Raja of
Banaras was very young. Kalb-e ʿAlī Ḳhān was
entrusted with the management of his territory. Thus he had in his
hands four estates with a revenue of four million nine hundred
thousand rupees, and full power over the revenue and critimal
matters in those areas. Deputy Kalb-e Ḥusain Ḳhān
Sahib was his son. And his son is ʿĀġhā
Kalb-e ʿĀbid Ḳhān Sahib, who is now a
First-Class Extra Assistant [Commissioner] in Amritsar, and through
his ability, steadfastness, generosity, and decorum is a true relic
of the elders of the past.

gMirzā
Sulaimān Shikoh was the brother of Akbar Shāh [II, Emperor
of Delhi]. He had left Delhi and had gone and made his home in
Lucknow. Thanks to the government in Lucknow, he passed his life in
magnificence [shikoh] and glory.